


Lucky

by RightNow2808



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RightNow2808/pseuds/RightNow2808
Summary: Rafa is not always lucky. But when it comes to Sascha, he is.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Guyssss, hi!  
> So, Rafa will always and forever be my main bitch, but Sascha is just unreal tbh :)  
> I HAD to do this, please give it a try, it's mostly just smut, which I think you'll like haha  
> Enjoy :)
> 
> Fictional time: Following the Rome final 2018

They walked into the locker room together. Rafa with his trophy, Sascha with the runner up plate. The tension in between them was so thick they could cut it with a knife. Rafa hadn’t felt that uncomfortable in a long time.

He put his trophy down first on the wooden bench, carefully and he was well aware of Sascha’s glance. He then put down his racket back on the floor and his Nike bag on the bench beside the trophy. Then his legs couldn’t carry him anymore and he sat down on the bench, his head falling against the wall behind him. He met Sascha’s look.

The boy hadn’t moved from his spot at the door. He was staring at Rafa, his face completely blank, void of any emotion. He should be proud of himself, Rafa thought, but he knew, just as well as Sascha did, how disappointing a defeat like that was. Rafa wondered if he should say something. He bit his lip. He liked talking to people after his losses, it made him feel less miserable and lonely. But he knew some people liked their quiet and peace after losing and he was standing in Sascha’s way of that.

“I…”

“How do you do it?” Sascha’s voice was quiet, but sharp, yet still not giving away any emotions. Rafa’s mind went very blank, having no idea how to respond to that. He gripped the bench edge tightly.

“¿Qué?” was the only thing that came to his mind. Of course, his English had to betray him just when he needed it the most.

“How do you get so lucky every single time?” Sascha asked. His voice had raised a fraction. His eyes were finally showing something, but Rafa didn’t like what he was seeing. It was difficult to hide how hurtful those words had been, but he had to keep in mind that Sascha had lost, that he was hurt and that he was probably only saying it because of that. He tried not to get angry.

“I’m sorry, but I not… I can’t control the rain,” he was stuttering slightly, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the bench. He hated when he did that. He didn’t try to deny the rain helping him. They both knew he would lose if it weren’t for the rain break.

Sascha finally moved. Rafa could see that his knuckles were white with the grip he had on his racket bag. He had the sudden urge to take his hand, loosen that hold and dig his thumbs into the sore muscles of his palm. He shook the thought away before it could fully evolve.

Sascha put his bag down on the bench opposite to Rafa and sat down with the runner up plate still in his arms. The edge of it was digging into his palm, Rafa could see it from where he was sitting. He bit his lip. He didn’t know where the sudden overwhelming sensation of guilt came from. It wasn’t like him to feel sorry for beating his opponents. This was tennis. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. If you try hard, you’re likelier to win more than lose.

But Sascha was looking at him with big sad eyes, looking almost accusatory. Rafa wondered if he really was that lucky. He was lucky to have a home he could live in, food to eat, clean water to drink, he was lucky to have a loving family that supported him always, no matter what. He was lucky to have such an amazing career, to have the chance to start it. But was he really lucky in tennis? He’d been injured more times than anyone else. Was that a result of his clumsiness? Of his damned navicular bone?

He worked hard. He got up at eight every morning and went to practice no matter how long he had stayed up the previous night. He had never skipped practice. He went through endless therapies, endless visits to various doctors, he received so many injections there were scars all over his body. He did all of that to still be here. Was he really lucky? He supposed a lucky person shouldn’t have to go through all of that.

He suddenly wished he had lost. Sascha then wouldn’t have a reason to look at him like Rafa was some sort of a cheater. He may have got lucky in that particular situation, but that didn’t make him a cheater. Yet Rafa still felt as one because of Sascha’s looks. After he couldn’t handle the German’s eyes burning into him anymore, he looked away. His eyes stopped on his trophy.

Sascha didn’t reply to Rafa’s last words, but he didn’t stop looking at him either. The tension and Rafa’s horrible feeling of guilt were washed away when somebody knocked on the door and stepped in.

*

Sascha wouldn’t leave Rafa’s mind alone, not even after everything was over and Rafa was tossing around in his bed, not able to fall asleep. Sascha’s blue eyes imprinted themselves into Rafa’s brain, his accusatory look, the sad and disappointed expression on his face.

He didn’t know if that was the reason for standing up and getting dressed into used shorts and the first tank top he found before he left the bedroom. Maria was soundly sleeping and Rafa quietly closed the door, so he wouldn’t wake her up. She wouldn’t understand what he was feeling. He didn’t understand himself.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. He found himself wandering the corridors of the hotel. He was cold, his feet were bare, and he wasn’t exactly sure which floor his room was on. All floors looked exactly the same. He went to bar after minutes of walking up and down the stairs. Even though the bar seemed open there wasn’t anybody there, not even the bartender. He sat at the counter for a few minutes before he left.

What was he doing with his life? He was flying back to Mallorca early tomorrow. And there would be another practice. A light one, but a practice nonetheless. And yet he was here, awake at half past two in the morning, not knowing what to do with his life.

The win didn’t mean anything to him now, not anymore. All because of one look from another boy he beat. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get him out of his head. Was that the moment he should end with tennis? He was always saying he would retire once there would be no more passion for the game. Sascha had sucked all of his passion right out of him. Where he had taken it, Rafa didn’t know.

*

That’s how Rafa ended up sitting in a corridor on the floor. He wasn’t sure where his room was. He didn’t take the key card and he didn’t want to wake Maria up even if he miraculously managed to knock on the right door. He had a feeling he would wake up the whole hotel before finding the right room. He rested his head against his knees. It was strange how he found more peace here, on a corridor, then in his bed beside his girlfriend. But Rafa had always been a bit strange.

Sascha was roaming the corridors for almost the same reason as Rafa. He needed fresh air which an opened window in his room couldn’t provide him. He’d been walking around Rome for hours and he hoped his team was worried sick. A part of him was sick of losing. It wanted revenge from everyone. But he knew his team was sleeping. He was alone in his room and there wasn’t anybody there waiting for him.

At the same time that part of him was the reason he was walking around Rome to clear his head. He still couldn’t quite believe he had spoken to Rafa in such manner. Rafa was a god and he was a mere boy who should kiss the very ground Rafa walked on. Instead he had accused him of only having won because of the rain, because of being lucky. Sascha was well aware of Rafa’s injury record. If anyone was unlucky in tennis, it was Rafa. And he still kept coming back every single time. Usually, every cell of Sascha’s body screaming in respect and adoration to the older player. He wasn’t quite sure what had got into him, but he knew he was hurt and he let it get the worst out of him.

He was too proud to apologise back in the locker room. Besides, he couldn’t, because then Rafa’s team came, his family. They congratulated Sascha first, but then they seemed to completely forget he was even there. He left as quietly as he could. He was planning on showering and changing somewhere else. As he was quietly sneaking to the door, he was well aware of Rafa’s calculating glance on him.

Now, hours later it was still biting at him. And it was getting worse and worse. He knew it would affect his game in the future. Because this just wasn’t like him. Rafa was better and he had won. He had never accused anyone of winning undeservedly before and he couldn’t believe he had done it then. He had to apologise. The next day, he told himself. Or at Roland Garros if not sooner.

*

Rafa looked up when he heard quiet footsteps. Who else was crazy enough to wander the hotel in the middle of the night. He was suddenly painfully aware of how exposed he was, and he self-consciously pulled his bare feet under him.

The steps were getting louder and louder, just around the corner now. Not all the lights were on at the night so at first Rafa only saw the person’s shadow. Tall and lanky but intimidating at the same time.  Rafa only needed a few more seconds before he recognized him. The wild mess of hair around his head was a clear indicator. He wished his hair was like that.

“Sascha?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sascha seemed just as surprised as he was. He stopped a few feet away, his lips parted, his tall form tensed.

“Rafa,” he replied, his voice strange and choked. Rafa felt a shiver go down his back. He didn’t know what caused it. The sound of his name coming off Sascha’s tongue or the cold that was starting to bite at his exposed legs and arms.

“What are you doing in front of my door?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, merely surprised. Rafa shrugged.

“I did not know it is your door,” he replied and looked to the door to his left. He shivered again, this time definitely from the cold. Sascha looked at him, his stare calculating. After time that seemed like hours but was probably just seconds, he offered him his hand. Rafa took it, his joints had gone numb after sitting for so long and he let Sascha pull him up.

“Did you forget to put your shoes on or is this some new kind of a ritual for you?” he asked. He pulled a key card from his pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and Rafa froze, unsure if he was invited to follow or not. Before he could overwork his mind about it, Sascha’s hand reached from the inside and pulled him into the room. Rafa stumbled.

“I… I forgot,” he finally stammered. His toes curled into the ground. He felt too exposed, not able to explain why. Sascha’s eyes were dark, but it could be because of lack of light. The only source was coming from the large balcony window, the bright full moon shining through.

Sascha chuckled and walked further into the room. Rafa followed him carefully, he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here, why wasn’t he in his room instead, curled up with his girlfriend. Yet if given a choice right then and there, he would stay there, even feeling as uncomfortable as he was. There was something pulling him further into the room.

Sascha was rummaging through his suitcase and Rafa watched him quietly from his place at the door. He didn’t speak. He felt as if a single word could break the spell that took over them.

Sascha threw something at him and Rafa caught it, his reflexes quick as ever. It was one of Sascha’s sweaters. It was soft and when Rafa smelled it subconsciously, it smelled just like Sascha. Sascha had worn it before. Rafa looked at him questioningly.

“Get dressed. I can see you shivering from here.” Rafa wanted to protest, even shivering was a weakness and he wanted so badly to hide it, but one look from Sascha was enough for Rafa to obediently pull the sweater over his head.

The heat and smelled overwhelmed him and he felt himself becoming a bit dizzy. He leaned against the wall. Breathing got difficult, the only thing existing for him was the intense look in Sascha’s eyes.

Sascha was coming closer, Rafa suddenly realised and he found himself pressing tightly against the wall, escaping even though there was nowhere to escape to. Sascha was there before Rafa was ready. His tall form blocked any way of escape, his smell filled Rafa until he sagged against the wall, his eyes half closed, feeling completely overwhelmed.

Sascha’s hands were on his hips suddenly, his touch firm and gentle at the same time. Rafa let out a shuddering breath. Not knowing what he was doing, his hands came to rest on top of Sascha’s, squeezing at his wrists. But he didn’t push him away. He tried to tell himself that this was his intention, but he couldn’t. The innocent touch felt too god.

Only, it wasn’t so innocent. Rafa started panting, his eyes dropped close, his head rolled back. Sascha’s lips were suddenly pressed to his throat, a touch so fleeting that Rafa was barely able to tell it was there. His long arms encircled Rafa’s waist, pulling him close. Their bodies were pressed flush together and Rafa chocked on a gasp. Rafa’s hands fell lax against his sides. He didn’t know where to put them.   

“The greatest of all time,” Sascha murmured, his lips brushing Rafa’s skin. “It’s always been you.” His arms around Rafa tightened and Rafa let out a moan that was too loud in the intimacy of Sascha’s hotel room.

“I…” Rafa started, not knowing what to say. He wanted a thousand things all at once, knowing he couldn’t have any of them.

“Shh,” Sascha murmured before Rafa could make a complete fool of himself. His fingers slipped under his own sweater that was too big on Rafa and under Rafa’s tank top too, stroking the skin above the waistband of Rafa’s shorts, where the skin of his back was the most sensitive. Rafa felt like fainting. Without realizing what he was doing he pressed his backside closer to the cold touch of Sascha’s fingers.

He felt Sascha smile against his neck. When Rafa realized what he just did was an invite it was already too late. The tips of Sascha’s finger slipped into his boxers and Rafa felt every single hair on his body stand up in the response to the fleeting touch to his ass.

“Sascha,” he gasped, breathless and helpless. Sascha silenced him with a kiss to his temple. The kiss was sweet, a contrast to what the German was doing to him. The arm wrapped around his waist kept Rafa standing, otherwise he would have collapsed a long time ago. His other hand went lower.

Rafa keened at the completely foreign sensation. He pressed his face into Sascha’s neck. He suddenly realised he still had his hands and he brought them up to wrap around Sascha’s neck. He needed something to hold on to. His short nails dug into the soft skin on the back of Sascha’s neck under his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sascha was saying. His words were sweet, but his body was completely destroying Rafa and the Spaniard, beyond confused with the reaction of his own body couldn’t help but press himself even closer. Sascha now sounded a bit breathless too. “For what I said. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Rafa couldn’t care less about his words. His body wasn’t obeying him. He was pushing back onto Sascha’s exploring fingers, then forward, rubbing himself against Sascha’s thigh. He’d never done anything like this before. He suddenly felt hot all over.

“I… I can’t, Sascha, please, I gonna…”

Sascha cut him off, nudged Rafa’s had up and pressed his lips against Rafa’s, stealing the last breath from him. Rafa’s legs couldn’t hold him up any longer.

The kiss wasn’t that different from Maria’s. But it was stronger, he had to tilt his head up instead of down. Sascha’s hand came to grip his jaw. His finger dipped inside Rafa’s body. Rafa’s lips parted in response, he moaned against Sascha’s lips. The German used it to slip his tongue inside, tasting something that was uniquely Rafa. Sweet and fresh.

“It’s okay,” he replied quietly, whispering right against Rafa’s lips and then pecking them quickly again. Rafa wasn’t so sure it was okay. He was barely aware of Sascha’s hips moving against his own, but the pleasure made itself known. Sascha had barely touched him and Rafa was close to coming into his pants. “Do you like that?” Rafa was nodding even before he managed to think about it. He would have nodded anyways. “I didn’t know,” he chuckled. Rafa didn’t know what he was referring to and he didn’t care either.

“Please,” he gasped. He was asking for everything. “Sascha.” He said his name like a player.

“What do you want?” Sascha’s lips were right against his ear, driving Rafa insane. He couldn’t breathe. “What you want, Rafa, tell me.”

“I can’t, Sascha, I-“ His hips were now desperately rocking, torn between wanting the contact on his cock and his sensitive entrance, where Sascha just kept rubbing and teasing him. The touch was still strange to Rafa but it was a good strange, a feeling Rafa found himself wanting more of.

“Tell me,” Sascha said again. This time it was almost a growl. Rafa sagged against him completely, panting against Sascha’s neck. He hadn’t been so turned on in his entire life.

“I don’t know, Sascha, please, just…” His voice was shaking. It was so low Rafa barely recognized it.

“Do you want me to make you come? Would you like that?” Rafa thought how wrong this was. At the mere thought he felt himself flush right to the tips of his ears. But the touch of Sascha’s hands seemed safe and sure and Rafa was nodding. “Words, Raf.”

“Yes, please,” he whispered. Overcoming his shyness, he pressed a kiss to Sascha’s neck. Sascha pulled his hand from Rafa’s boxers, made a step away and Rafa immediately hated the loss of warmth. He tried not to feel afraid. But Sascha immediately took a hold of Rafa’s hand and gently, so gently pulled him towards the unmade bed.

Was he really about to do this? Yes, Rafa thought. He was.

Sascha pushed him down, then fell on top of him. Rafa had never done this before, but the instinct took over him. He spread his thighs, giving Sascha space to lie in between them. This brought their hips into contact, their hard cocks rubbing through layers of clothing too much.

Rafa whimpered, pushed his hips up.

“You look good in my sweater,” Sascha observed. His hands pushed it up Rafa’s body, to about the middle of his stomach, hands stroking at the soft skin of his belly. The dust of hair leading down stood up at the touch.

He didn’t remove the sweater. He tucked his fingers into Rafa’s boxers and pulled them down his legs together with his shorts. Rafa didn’t have any time to feel self-conscious. Sascha’s hungry look swallowed him right up.

Sascha ran his thumb down Rafa’s cock. It twitched and Rafa pushed his hips up with a moan. Sascha was mesmerized by the way Rafa’s muscles flowed under his skin. He touched him all over with his other hand. His skin was warm and had goose bumps all over it. He was amazed by the reaction he was getting from the older man and he needed more.

He leaned down, pressed his kiss to Rafa’s hip bone. His fingers played with Rafa’s cock, so gently that it was driving Rafa insane. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

“Sascha,” Rafa gasped. “Why- why you teasing?”

“Not teasing,” Sascha said. His lips were so close to Rafa’s cock, his breath ghosting over it. Rafa’s muscles locked up. “Appreciating. You are so beautiful, Rafa, the best.”

Rafa didn’t know what to do with that compliment. Nobody had ever said that to him either. He brought his hand up, he touched Sascha’s cheek, his touch exploring. Sascha smiled at him, before his lips continued mapping out his body.

“You- you too,” Rafa stammered. “Are beautiful.”

Sascha hid his smile into Rafa’s belly, nipping on the skin. Rafa was gone from there on, arching his back, his hands tanging in the sheets. The knuckles of his fingers turned white immediately.

“God, I want to do so many things to you,” he murmured. His hand slipped in between Rafa’s legs, fingers returned to exploring the skin behind his balls.

“You can,” Rafa gasped, spreading his legs wider. God, he would let Sascha do anything. The German seemed to read his mind and he chuckled.

“Don’t say things you’ll regret later, sweetheart.” Nobody had ever called Rafa that before. He liked the warmth that spread through him at it. “If you give me the permission, I’m not sure I’ll never let you out of this bed again. Can’t promise you you’ll walk tomorrow either.” Rafa shivered at his words.

“What do you… What do you want to do?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But he wanted to hear Sascha talk more.

“I want to,” Sascha started, his voice low and seductive. He climbed back up Rafa’s body, his lips close to Rafa’s ear. His hand didn’t leave him for a second. “I want to fuck you. I want to fill you up with everything I have. I want to… I wanna see you come on my cock. I want to, fuck, Raf, I really want to fuck you, can I? Can I do that?”

Rafa’s body shuddered all over, his eyelids fluttering like he was barely there anymore. Sascha punctuated his words with one finger rubbing over Rafa’s hole, and when it came to this Rafa never had a choice.

“Yes,” he said, his voice breaking. He squeezed Sascha’s biceps, needing something to hold on to.

Sascha said something in a language that was unknown to Rafa but he was strongly suspected it was a curse.

“Have you ever let anyone fuck you before?” he asked, switching back to English.

“I… No… Never.”

“So…” Sascha gently bit Rafa’s earlobe. “Nothing has ever been in here before?” He pushed his finger inside, the dry friction uncomfortable and amazing at the same time and Rafa spread his legs wider, gasped, pushed his hips up, clawed at the skin of Sascha’s biceps. He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. “Not even a finger?” Rafa flushed with embarrassment. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, but he never did it. He shook his head again. “Fuck,” Sascha murmured.

The touch of his finger was gone and Rafa let out a whimper he didn’t know he was capable of. Sascha shushed him simply with a quick kiss. He reached to his bedside drawer. Rafa still had trouble keeping up with what was about to happen, and he felt even more blood rushing to his face when he saw Sascha pull out a condom and a tube of lube. He looked away and bit his lip.

Sascha’s fingers touched his chin, gently turning his face towards himself. His blue eyes were dark with lust, but there was still worry shining in them.

“You really want to? I don’t wanna…”

“Sí, Alexander,” Rafa replied. He was nervous, a little bit scared, more than confused, but he knew one thing. He wanted it. “Want.”

One of Sascha’s hands grabbed the back of Rafa’s thigh, holding it in place. The other one returned to his ass, wet with lube. Rafa stiffened up at the new feeling of cold, but Sascha kept mouthing at his knee, until Rafa relaxed enough. He pushed a careful finger inside him, twisted, explored.

Rafa was incredibly sensitive to everything, he found out. He squirmed, and he moaned, and he twitched all over. Sascha was going mad with how well he could play Rafa’s body. He found Rafa’s prostate, played with it and watched how the flush from Rafa’s cheek spread to his chest, how his cock twitched every time he pressed on it, how prettily he threw his head back and moaned. The muscles in his arms tightened impressively.

He added another finger, his gaze drawn to Rafa’s face then back to his ass, to the muscles in his tummy and back up. He couldn’t stare at the same place for too long. Then another one, perhaps too soon, judging by the way Rafa tightened up and how his lips parted in a silent groan.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pressed a kiss to Rafa’s knee in apology. “Fuck, can I… You’re too much, Rafa, Jesus Christ.” Rafa knew what he was asking for and he nodded in permission. He raised his head, found Sascha’s lips with his own, feeling braver than before.

“Sí, sí, you can, yes, please, Sascha.”

Sascha cursed again, thrust his fingers in hard, stroked over his prostate mercilessly to make Rafa cry out in pleasure, before he removed his fingers. He pushed his pants down, together with his boxers, while Rafa quickly worked on his T-shirt. After his hands finally got to Sascha’s skin, he was mostly surprised by how soft and scorching hot it was.

Sascha fumbled with the condom, fingers shaking. When it fell from him, Rafa took it, opened it with his teeth and rolled it on. He watched, completely mesmerised. He had never touched another man’s cock before. Sascha’s was long and thick and Rafa wondered how that was supposed to fit inside of him. He’d never thought he’d think something like that, but Sascha’s cock was pretty.

Rafa didn’t let himself get too scared by the length and the thickness. He wanted it, besides, he was sure he had taken more pain.

Sascha used more lube until his hands were completely wet and everything was slippery. Rafa chuckled. Sascha looked up at him, flashed him a smile and wiped his hands off on the sheet. It left light pink streaks.

He sat back on his haunches, grabbed Rafa’s hips and pulled him forward, until his ass was resting in Sascha’s lap. Rafa wrapped his legs around Sascha’s waist. His thighs were trembling. Not from fear, but from anticipation.

The first touch of Sascha’s wet cock on his entrance was foreign and cold, but Rafa invited the sensation nonetheless. He tried to relax, but Sascha pushing in was still invasive and he couldn’t help tightening up and hissing in the sudden pain.

“Shh,” Sascha murmured. His hands stroked Rafa’s hipbones, his tummy, his sides, running his fingers over his cock. Rafa looked at him through teary eyes. Sascha looked beautiful like that. He had the full control over Rafa’s body, but the Spaniard trusted him, didn’t fear Sascha’s power.

Sascha pushed inside slowly. Rafa felt completely taken, invaded, dominated, exposed in every way, but he liked it. He threw his head back and moaned, found Sascha’s knee with one of his hands and touched him. He fisted his other hand into the sheets.

“Fuck,” Sascha cursed. “Fuck. Jesus, Rafa, you’re so good.”

Sascha was overwhelmed by the tight heat of Rafa wrapped around him. The heat in his belly was even more fuelled by the thought that he was the first to do that to Rafa. Nobody else had ever seen him like this, nobody else had ever touched him like this. Nobody had ever been inside of him.

Rafa forgot how to breathe. “Ohh,” he gasped. “Sascha, I… Oh, more, please.”

Sascha pushed in inch by inch, until finally giving him a harder shove, locking their hips together. He ground against him slowly, but hard enough to have Rafa whimpering, scrambling for purchase. He found it on Sascha’s hands, trying to get a hold. Sascha helped him by interlocking their fingers together.

“Are you okay?” Sascha asked, whispering. He squeezed his fingers gently, moved his hips carefully. He watched Rafa squeeze his eyes shut, already looking thoroughly fucked out. And yet, Sascha wanted to destroy him even more. “Can I-“

“Yes, yes, Sascha, I’m fine, you can, ohh, please,” he was whimpering, squeezing his fingers harder and Sascha complied, because he didn’t want Rafa to tear his fingers off. He moved his hips, drawing back and then pushing back forward, carefully watching Rafa’s face for signs of discomfort, but Rafa seemed completely lost in the pleasure.

He fucked him, slowly but roughly, pushing to the hilt every time, deep enough that Rafa saw stars each time. The sensation was overwhelming and Rafa, having been kept on the edge for so long, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control his body. He was 31 for God’s sake, he should be able to keep it together for a while longer.

Sweat was pooling in his belly button, leaving a shiny layer on his skin. When Sascha’s hand stroked over his skin, it came back wet.

Suddenly, Sascha pushed him off his lap and when the invasion was gone Rafa moaned almost in surprise, looking up at Sascha questioningly.

“Wait,” Sascha gasped when Rafa pushed his hips up in search for contact. “Wait, can you put your leg here?” Sascha pushed both of Rafa’s legs almost up to his chest, which made Rafa feel even more exposed but by then, he was past the point of caring.

“Please, hurry,” he whined, kept one hand on his thigh to hold his leg where it was. The other was kept in place by one of Sascha’s sure hands.

Sascha thrust back in, quicker this time, a fraction too quick for Rafa, who moaned in surprise at the sudden assault. This position made it easier; Sascha’s thrusts were faster but still just as deep and hard. Rafa couldn’t do anything but take it, his hands coming to rest on Sascha’s neck, because he could finally reach him. As he felt himself getting close, the heat in his belly so strong that he was almost afraid of it, he desperately pulled on Sascha’s neck, until the German got what he wanted. He leaned down, pressed his lips against Rafa’s, kissed him hard enough that Rafa couldn’t even think anymore.

Rafa was already completely invaded by Sascha, but when Sascha’s tongue pushed into his mouth, wrapped his fingers around his weeping cock and stroked him in time with his thrusts, Rafa could only whimper uselessly. He tried to tell Sascha that he was close, but he forgot how to speak. He pushed his hips up instead, dug his nails into Sascha’s skin, tightened around Sascha’s cock.

Sascha’s grunts and moans were filling his ears. They were panting against each other’s mouths, not really kissing anymore. Sascha’s hold around his cock tightened and Rafa saw stars. He made a sound. He was right on the brink of orgasm, suspended for a second when his muscles locked up, tightened, when he had to break the kiss to throw his head back and he was pretty sure he yelled out. He was falling down then, the feeling so good that Rafa never wanted it to end.

Sascha fucked him through it and with the last bit of strength he possessed Rafa reached up, threaded his fingers through Sascha’s wide hair. He tugged on it gently and Sascha growled into the skin of his neck, his thrusts getting rougher, almost brutal, prolonging Rafa’s orgasm. Rafa’s every whimper got louder, Sascha’s grunts got lower and rougher until Rafa was sure he could come just listening to them.

“Come on, Sascha, is okay, you can- ohh, you can…”

Sascha didn’t wait for Rafa’s permission. He grunted again, bit into the soft skin of Rafa’s neck, something that would probably leave a mark, and came. The room was filled with sounds of their panting, skin slapping against skin, of Rafa’s breathy moans and Sascha’s soft grunts.

He fell on top of him after he was done, stretching Rafa’s already sore muscles even further. Sascha laid his head on Rafa’s chest and in a position like that Rafa realised how young he was, that he was actually still just a boy at 21. He stroked his hair, gently untangling it with his fingers. Sascha was panting against his skin, needing time, before he slowly raised himself up, looked at Rafa with a guarded look in his eyes.

He slipped out of him, threw the condom to the floor somewhere, before he plopped back down on the bed. He seemed worried, and more self-conscious than Rafa had ever seen him before. So he did the only logical thing. He gathered Sascha in his arms, pressed a kiss to his temple, trying not to think about how quickly their roles had reversed.

“I not tell you before,” he said. It was late, and he was tired. He was done bothering with his English. “I’m not angry for what you say in the locker room. Make me think, but I was not angry. I understand. You don’t have to apologise, no?”

“What I said wasn’t true and it wasn’t right, no matter how I was feeling. I did have to apologise.”

Rafa seemed impressed by what he had said and that alone was worth the try.

“But I am lucky, no?”

“No, Rafa, you work- I… It was just about the rain, I don’t…”

“I mean you. I am lucky for this, for you.” Rafa reached out, brushed over Sascha’s flushed cheek, before he returned to stroking his blonde hair.

“I… Is this-? I mean, is this for more than once?”

Rafa’s hand stilled in his hair, but just for a second. Then he continued. His soft touch was making Sascha sleepy.

“I don’t know. We see what luck brings.”

FIN


End file.
